photo credit: Melanie Roberts
Do what you can. Where you are. With what you have. —Theodore Roosevelt
It is more deeply stirring to my blood than any imagining could possibly have been.
Hawkeye: My father's people say that at the birth of the sun and of his brother the moon, their mother died. So the sun gave to the earth her body, from which was to spring all life. And he drew forth from her breast the stars, and the stars he threw into the night sky to remind him of her soul. So there's the Cameron's monument. My folks' too, I guess.
– from The Last of the Mohicans, one of my favorite movies, which I re-watched tonight
Another work trip, this time to our datacenter in Fremont, California, near San Jose. I took the A-train from Denver’s Union Station out to the airport for the first time. So easy and clean and unlike Atlanta’s MARTA.
I arrived at the airport ridiculously early, which is my way, with plenty of time to fiddle around the book store (didn’t buy anything), have a twenty minute massage, and settle in at a bar for a nice bowl of ramen. Good day.
No doubt … it is only a matter of time, but then, what is not?
I just finished The Secret Scripture, my fourth Sebastian Barry book.
America is … “still a beacon, still a magnet for all who must have freedom, for all the pilgrims from all the lost places who are hurtling through the darkness, toward home.” —from Ronald Reagan’s farewell address
Thinking of Billy Roberts, who had green eyes, liked black walnut ice cream and Don Williams songs, taught me to drive a stick shift (on the column, not the floor) in his faded blue Ford truck, and said “bless your heart” when one of us did something nice for him like take him iced tea when he was mowing the big backyard of that first house they bought in Phillips County, Arkansas.
Gone for almost 32 years now. Nothing good lasts.
I believe in love, I believe in old folks, I believe in children, and I believe in you. –Don Williams
Here’s what I added to my music library over this last week. Listen on Apple Music.
Drinking my unsweetened Cashewgurt puts me in the mind of my great grandmother Ma-Robbie who enjoyed a glass of cold buttermilk with her meals.